Walking Away, and Coming Back Again
by M.Kena
Summary: When Sam left for Stanford, their family shattered. Will Sam be there when his brother and father need him? Or are they just too broken? PreSeries and leading up to Pilot.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Walking Away, And Coming Back Again.

**Summary:** When Sam left for Stanford, their family shattered. Will Sam be there when his brother and father need him? Or are they just too broken? Pre-Series and leading up to Pilot.

**A/N:** So, this was originally part of The Bandage Cuts Me Deeper, but it really had nothing to do with story, so I cut it away and made it its own story. Aren't you thrilled? I know I am.

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**Chapter one, He Who Walked Away**

He remembered the day he saw Sammy march out that door.

How could he not remember every single detail perfectly? It was only undyingly etched onto the inside of his eyelids after all.

As he stood there, a twenty one year old, he watched his seventeen year old brother turn away from their father. Dean could remember exactly what Sam had been wearing. He was wearing an aged pair of jeans that didn't exactly sit on his waist right, they were about a size too big, but Dean had outgrown them and graciously offered them to Sam. He was only wearing them because the wash still hadn't been done.

"I don't need your clothes!" Sam had yelled at him when Dean came in their room, offering the cherished pair of jeans. Dean had killed his first demon in those jeans, they weren't just pants, they were a memory he was offering to Sam. It was a double stab to the heart to see his baby brother walk away in those jeans.

He was wearing an old shirt that had also been Dean's, and before that, it had been their father's. It was light heather gray and was extremely worn, gossamer about described it. The bottom hem looked like someone had taken scissors to it, a nip there and a nip here, until it was frayed more than a hippy's cut-offs. The breast pocket was ripping in one corner. The only thing it could hold was a small trinket, normally a pocket knife for those stylish on the go hunters. Over the fading tee-shirt was an army green sweatshirt coat, fairly new. Sam had bought it with some birthday money their grandmother had sent him. He had yet to take it off in the four days he had owned it. And finally, he was wearing those stupid black and white Nikes he loved so damned much. It's not like he played any sports, Dean was just fine with those nameless department store shores, to think about spending sixty dollars on shoes… he needed a paper bag to breathe into.

"I don't want to live like this anymore! I want to be normal for once! I got a full ride to Stanford Dad! Do you even know how hard I've worked for this?" Sam yelled. Dean sure did. He knew how many all nighters Sam had pulled, how many books he had read, how many straight A report cards and letters of recommendation he had busted his ass to get. All Dad knew was that Sam didn't want to learn how to hunt, he didn't want to avenge Mary's death, not like did. "I don't want to live your life!" Sam yelled. Dean had been sitting on the stairs, watching them without being seen, just as their father had taught them to do. They were in the living room, the TV was just static, a result of John's inability to remember to pay their bills.

John Winchester just stared at his son. Just stared. Sam wished more than anything that his father couldn't see through him, he wished that his father didn't know how this was eating him inside. But at least he knew Sam was telling the truth. Sam looked down and chewed on his lower lip, looking for the right words to express his emotions.

"I don't…" He looked up into his father's glassy eyes. Sam could never remember a time when their father didn't appear to be on autopilot. Sam sighed. "I don't want to be part of this family anymore." He whispered. On the stairs, Dean's fists tightened around the envelope he was holding. The crinkle of paper alerted the oldest and youngest Winchester of his presence. Sam looked to his older brother, but Dean just turned his head.

John continued to stare at his baby boy, the child he had raised entirely on his own. What had he done so wrong? What was it that made Sam and Dean so completely different? Why couldn't Sam see that they needed him? He wanted to just tell Sammy he loved him and that he was proud and to shell out all of his money so Sam could buy new books and an awesome sound system for his dorm room, but that wasn't John Winchester, at least not the man he was now.

"You leave this family, you don't ever come back." John whispered, his heart breaking again as the words left his mouth. His jaw was set and he looked like a brick wall, except his eyes weren't glassed, they were wet. If Sam hadn't been so ashamed and upset and looked into his father's eyes he would have seen the truth there. John was begging his son, pleading with his baby boy to just set that freaking duffle bag down and just stay. Just stay and be my son like you used to be. Dean stood up and walked down two steps.

"Dad, come on…" Dean said rationally. John raised a flexed hand in Dean's general direction and Dean stopped, as the hand signal motioned for him to do. John never once took his eyes off of Sam. Dean held out his hands in front of him, ever so slight and twisted his mouth into the early beginnings of a smile, his silent way to say "I love you both, stop the madness." But John's hand stayed raised and his eyes stayed focused, so Dean's mouth never spoke those words.

"Dean, go get in the car, we have a demon to find." John said calmly, finally breaking Sam from his daze. They were staring at each other again, but John's eyes had glazed over once more and Sam all together missed the only time John could have become his father again. Dean nodded and walked down the stairs.

"Yes Sir." He walked out the front door slowly, stopping to sit on the stoop, hoping to hear more of their conversation. Moments later the door opened. Dean turned and saw Sam standing there, his knuckles white from his grip on the handle of his army green duffle bag.

Army green had been Sam's favorite color ever since he was eleven. John had taken them with him on a particularly dangerous hunt. The particular demon fed on bottled emotions, and John knew he could resist anything if he felt his boys were in danger. He often hated himself for using his boys as a weapon, but every time they got away unharmed, or relatively unharmed, he was okay with it.

A fair of sorts had been in the town where the demon resided and John took his boys to it. While Dean most enjoyed the animals Sam was fascinated by obstacle course set up by the Army Reserve. He had wanted to do it, but you had to be at least fifteen. Sam had been so upset.

Dean came to his rescue that day and ran the course in record time for his age group. They gave him a complementary army green sweatshirt with the words "An Army Of One" printed on the back. He had given it to Sam and ever since then army green had been his favorite color.

Now, almost an adult, Sam looked at his brother, sitting on the stoop. Dean turned his face out to the front yard of the gross motel they were staying at this week, or month. He knew Sam was staring at his back, boring holes in his soul. Sammy had always been able to know exactly how he was feeling.

"You leaving?" Dean asked in a gruff voice, struggling to keep his tone and expression emotionless, while his chest was swelling with feelings of love, pain, confusion and anger. Mostly jealously.

He didn't have to look to know that Sam was nodding. Dean chewed on the corner of his bottom lip.

"Take care of yourself Sam." Dean whispered and rose to his feet. He turned to look at his brother. Sam swallowed, his eyes full of unshed tears.

"Dean, look man, I won't…" Sam stopped when John walked out of the room, stopping between his two boys. He always came between them, somehow he found a way, whether it was intentional or unintentional. He was the rift between them. Dean was fighting to prove his loyalty and Sam was fighting to get away. John completely ignored Sam and slapped a silver pistol into Dean's hand.

"Come on Dean. We wouldn't want to keep Samuel from his first day of college." He said coldly, walking determinedly towards the Impala. Sam and Dean watched him get inside and start the car. Sam snorted and shook his head in an almost amused disbelief. He had expected more resistance. He had expected their father to forbid him to go, to tie him down, to guilt trip him… he had definitely not expected him to just let go.

Dean ignored the tears rolling down his baby brother's cheeks and fought against the ones in his own. Dean took a deep breath, putting the gun in his belt and concealing it with his shirt. He took one last look at his brother, giving him a stare hug. "Goodbye Sammy." He whispered and walked to the car without looking back.

Dean got in the passenger side of the car and looked at the envelope he still held in his clammy palm. As they pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Sam alone on the stoop, Dean ripped it open. It was a Hallmark card. The front read; So You're Going To College? There was a tall, thin geeky looking kid on the front that had reminded Dean so much of Sam that he couldn't resist when he saw it at the local Fred Meyer. Dean opened it slowly to read what he had written just that morning when Sam had told him the news.

"Not that you'll ever need it, but I included my famous recipe for the hang-over helper." Dean smiled, he really was a genius when it came to fixing a hang-over in time to salt and burn some bones. "Look Sam, I'm really proud of you. As much as I hate the thought of you leaving and being on your own, I know you can do it. Just don't become a stranger. Love, your brother Dean."

"What's that?" John asked and Dean became aware of his father's presence, remembering that if the car was moving someone had to be driving it. Dean shut the card and crinkled it in his hand.

"Nothing, it doesn't matter." Dean explained and tossed it out the window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Walking Away, And Coming Back Again.

**Summary:** When Sam left for Stanford, their family shattered. Will Sam be there when his brother and father need him? Or are they just too broken? Pre-Series and leading up to Pilot.

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**Chapter two, Take My Hand and Help Me Fall**

Two years later:

"Dad…" Dean said warily as he pushed open the door of the abandoned mansion. His gut instinct was telling him to run away, but then again normally when you walked into a supposed haunted anything, that's what it should be yelling. If it was yelling to sit down and stay awhile, that's when you should be really worried. Dean had been instructed to stay by the car until he got the signal, if he didn't get it in twenty minutes, go get help because it was probably needed.

Well, those instructions were fine and dandy, until that was Dean's cell phone had almost electrocuted him. He had a nice bald spot of singed hair on the side of his head thanks to crappy wiring. But as soon as he walked into the mansion he had a feeling he wouldn't have a case against T-Mobile after all.

There, at the bottom of the once regal staircase, lay his father. Dean ran to his side, his heart beating against his rib cage like King Kong after he lost Naomi Watts to Adrian Brody. Dean slid his hand under his father's head, feeling that his hair was matted with blood. Obviously whoever had done this had the power to cause a shortage in a five year old cell phone. And Dean had all ready been planning on buying some really nice new Black Sabbath tapes with all that money he could have gotten. Darn…

"Dad." Dean whispered, putting his head to his father's chest and feeling his pulse. He was alive, but seriously injured. Dean could no longer ignore the awkward angle at which his father's arm was at, and there was a serious gash running up the outside of his father's leg, oh, and it was bent back at the knee. "Dad, please answer me." Dean whispered.

"Dean, get out of here. Go get help…" John whispered. Dean nodded and started to stand. But something caused him to pause. He wasn't exactly sure why he chose this moment to disobey his father. Maybe it was the fact that by the time he got help his father could be dead, or maybe, just maybe, it was the cold breath he could feel on his neck.

John's eyes widened. "Get away from my son!" He yelled suddenly. Dean whirled around and felt cold hands around his neck, and they certainly belonged to the cold breath. This wasn't a warning, this spirit was hostile and it wanted to kill. Dean felt another pair of hands holding his wrists, to keep him from fighting back. Dean couldn't see features, but he could see faint outlines of two people standing in front of him. The hands around his neck tightened and Dean felt like his eyes were going to pop.

"Dean!" John yelled, trying in vain to even move. There's really no words to describe the feeling of helplessness a father feels when they can't even get up to save their son. John would willingly stop his hunt to find the thing that killed Mary for the chance to save his boy right now.

Dean felt a hot pain swipe across his abdomen. The pain was like a bucket of ice cold water. He could think clearly for about half a second, and then all he could focus on was the hands squeezing his windpipe closed. Something tore the flesh on his chest and then his back, his mind was so cloudy he barely felt the, whatever the hell was hurting him, cut his cheek. Of course, barely feeling it was like having a root canal and teeth pulled without Novocain, or the additional four shots of vodka John Winchester always insisted upon. If he had had even a millimeter of air in his lungs he would have cried out.

There was a gunshot and the spirit holding his neck let go. Dean had never been so happy to hear a deadly weapon in his entire life. Another gunshot and the phantom holding his wrists let go. Dean fell forward to his knees, and then pinched forward so he was on all fours, trying to breathe again. Someone put a warm hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" It was Sam. Dean knew that voice. Dean looked up and saw his baby brother standing there, a shotgun in one hand. Dean nodded.

"Get Dad to a hospital…" Dean panted, reaching for the gun. Sam pulled it back and held out a hand to help Dean stand.

"You're coming." Sam informed him. Dean shook his head. As much as Dean wanted to hug Sammy, there were more pressing matters, say those sons of bitches who just tore up his favorite shirt and poster worthy face.

"These spirits, they disappear during the day. I have one hour to kill them. Take Dad to the hospital and come back to get me." Dean ordered.

"Don't leave him alone here Sammy." John Winchester hissed through clenched teeth, pain deteriorating his awareness. Dean looked down at his father and then at Sam again, his eyes hard.

"Sam, Dad could die if you don't get him help." Dean snatched the gun from Sam when he turned to look at their father. "Go!" Dean ordered. Sam hesitantly slipped his hands under his Dad's armpits. "Sorry Dad." Dean whispered before punching him in the face and knocking him out. Sam looked at him.

"Dude, this way he won't complain the whole way." Dean said and flashed Sam that smile. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Stay alive until I get back." Sam ordered and lifted their father onto his shoulder and barely managing to carry him to Sam's old Honda Accord. He gently put his father in the back seat and drove off, his mind focused on getting there and getting back in time to save Dean.

Sam glanced back in the rearview mirror and his unconscious father. He could feel all the bitterness he had bottled inside for so long, but now was not the time. Physical healing was the priority, emotional came whenever there was time for it. Which in a family like the Winchesters, it hardly ever came.

He wondered how many times they had faced death before this. All the times they could have avoided being hurt if only they had had one other person. What if they had died today? And Sam had decided to go to his final exam instead of missing it to be there? Would he have ever forgiven himself? Probably not. Even after everything John Winchester had put him through, all the monsters, all the killing, all the emotional and physical torment of doing what they did… he would never ever, knowingly let anything happen to his father. He loved his father, no matter what he did.

If only he could tell him that.

&&&

Dean walked slowly up the stairs, his gun cocked and at the ready. The deep cuts on his body from those damned spirits stung so much it was hard to concentrate. He managed to take a quick look at his shirt, soaked with blood and totally ruined. Oh man did he have a score to settle!

"Come out come out wherever you are!" Dean sung gently. He heard a screech behind him. He turned and shot at the noise blindly. "Now, if I was a raging lunatic, where would I hide my victims' bodies?" Dean asked the house. He felt small hands on his ribs, stopping him from advancing any farther. Small, gentle, child like hands. Dean lowered the gun and spoke softly. "Annabelle, is that you?" Dean asked, the hands pushed harder and Dean had to take a step back to keep his balance. "I know what happened to you. I can send you home, if you just show me where your bones are…" For a ghost of a little girl she sure packed a punch. She shoved Dean backwards, and he flew through an old door that had been locked, but locks didn't stand much of a chance against flying Dean Winchesters.

Dean groaned and stared at the ceiling. His first feeling was of intense pain; like his bones had been liquefied… then he wanted to gag. He sat up and looked at the four bodies hanging from the ceiling, only partially decomposed. The room was some sort of storage, a cold storage which had prevented the natural decomposing process from taking place. Three of the bodies were suspended by hooks driven into their ankles. The forth was hanging from a rope tied to his neck. Dean struggled to his feet and pulled out the salt from his bag.

Around the early twentieth century the house had belonged to a wealthy family known as the Montreals. Mr. Montreal was a wealthy business man with a large chunk of change in the bank. He married a French woman named Francesca, but unknown to him was the "brother" she supposedly brought over was her lover.

Francesca and her lover lived off of Mr. Montreal for many years, and Francesca even produced a child, no one ever knew whether it was his or Francesca's "brother's." But, when Annabelle, the child, turned nine Francesca and her lover were sick of having to keep their relationship a secret. So they decided to kill Mr. Montreal.

Francesca poisoned his drink and late that night her lover, Hanson, came in late and stabbed him, forty times. Or so the police report concluded from the gash marks in Mr. Montreal's mattress. They never found his or Annabelle's body. They concluded after the act was done, Hanson strangled Annabelle and in her rage, Francesca shot and killed Hanson and then stashed the bodies and killed herself in their eternal resting place.

"They were wrong, weren't they Mr. Montreal?" Dean asked the body that was hanging from his neck. He could tell it was Mr. Montreal by the gold watch that hung from his neck. "Let me guess." Dean asked as he cut down the four bodies and sprinkled salt over each one. "You walked in on your wife banging who you had always thought was her brother. And it was like salting the wound," Dean laughed at the pun as he poured the remnants of the salt on Mr. Montreal's body "because they were screwing on your bed, weren't they? So you killed them both out of pure rage, stabbing Hanson forty times, a little excessive don't ya think? And then you strangled your lovely wife because she broke your heart." Dean was whining sarcastically, his lip out at a full pout. "… and either your little Annie walked in, or you noticed how much she looked like Hanson so you killed her too. Nice guy you are." Dean covered the entire room in gasoline and the pulled out his lighter.

"Hope you like it in hell Mr. Montreal." Dean whispered and dramatically dropped his lighter and walked from the room, his pride and coolness totally climbing up the charts. He slammed the door and smiled at his handy work. Dad was going to be so proud. Dean turned and as he rubbed his hands together he realized he was looking straight into the somewhat transparent face of Mr. Montreal. After his initial shock, Dean grinned. "I figured you'd be the last one I'd see." He waved gleefully. "Thanks for letting me say goodb…" He didn't finish because something sent him back, straight through the glass window and onto the antique patio table, two stories down.

Dean laid there for a moment before his brain quit sending the message of "live" to the rest of his body, or until unconsciousness took him and realized victory wasn't as sweet as he had expected. In fact, it left a copper taste in his mouth.

&&&

Sam drove as fast as the piece of junk car would allow him. He could see the blaze of the house before he was even on the half a mile long driveway. 'Way to be inconspicuous Dean.' Sam thought with a smile and shake of his head. That was just like Dean. If there was one thing Dad had always told them, it was to be secretive. I guess even Dean had to act out sometimes.

Sam got to the house and saw that Dean wasn't in his Impala, a smile of pure cockiness on his face. Sam felt the little man named Panic eat at his stomach. He turned off the car and got out. He cupped his hands around his mouth, a makeshift megaphone.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled as loud as he could. No answer. Well, if he was alive he wouldn't be in the house anymore, especially since the top floor was almost gone. It was amazing how fast those old houses burned. Sam walked closer to the house and looked through the windows. The grand hall had a window at the end which Sam could see from his position on the front porch. The window showed the back porch, and Sam could see one shoe rested up on a partially shattered antique table. He knew those shoes. "Dean." Sam gasped and took off running around the house. 'Please just be breathing, Dean.' Sam prayed to himself.

Sam jumped onto the small patio, ignoring the groans of the rotting planks under his feet. He dropped to his knees at Dean's side. Dean was out like a light and Sam looked up at the house, to see from where about Dean had fallen.

"Second story window." Dean hissed. Sam looked at him and smiled with relief. "Took you freaking long enough, I thought I was going to freeze to death." Dean explained. Sam nodded, not exactly ready to speak yet. He was sure he was going to see his brother with his brains splattered on the ground. Dean wasn't exactly safe yet, Sam saw some blood on his lips, never the best sign.

All Sam wanted to do was gather his brother in a big hug and just tell him how happy he was that he was okay. He wanted to tell him how he had been so worried about him and Dad since Dean had called a day ago. But he didn't. Instead he took one of Dean's arms, putting it across his shoulders, wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and hoisted him to his feet. Though Dean tried to stand, his knees buckled and they almost went down again, but Sam held him up. "Dad is going to be okay." Sam explained.

"Good." Dean said through his teeth. His eyes were closed tightly and Sam knew he was in pain. "What did you tell them?" Dean asked and let a small moan slip past his lips.

"He was in a car accident." Sam explained. He looked at Dean. He had a long scratch across his chest, one on his stomach and his back. The one on his cheek wasn't that bad. Dean would be happy about that, no permanent damage to his face. There were bruises on his neck and some of his ribs were definitely bruised, if not broken, but that seemed to be about it. Thank God his neck hadn't snapped. Sam wasn't too sure how Dean had survived that fall… but it had worked out in their favor so he didn't dare question it.

"Take me back to the hotel… Dad can take a look at me when he gets out…" Dean struggled to speak coherently. Sam shook his head.

"Dean…"

"Sam! How the hell would we explain this, huh? Just take me home. It's not that serious!" Dean yelled angrily and suddenly went limp. Sam caught him and held him up. He had passed out.

"God damn you, Dean." Sam hissed and drug Dean to the car, this time taking the Impala. If he was going to listen to Dean, he was going to rebel somehow.

&&&

Dean opened his eyes in the hotel room. He was lying on the bed, on top of the covers with his shirt off. He heard some noise in the bathroom and jumped straight into hunter mode. He sat up, ignoring the pain and reached for the pistol he kept taped under the bed. He would not take being killed half naked, lying down.

"I moved it. I didn't want you accidentally shooting me when you woke up." Sam explained and walked in from the bathroom with one of the chipped cereal bowls full of water and a first-aide kit. "Lay back down you retard." Sam said with a smile. Dean laid back down against the pillows. Sam sat down on the side of the bed and pressed a warm wet towel against the cut on Dean's smooth chest. Dean winced. "Baby." Sam whispered.

"Bitch." Dean whispered back. Sam smiled.

"I'd be very nice to me if I were you." Sam said happily. Dean was about to ask him why that was when Sam showed him the needle, the string and the lighter, the god damn lighter. Dean clenched his teeth.

"Shouldn't we wait for Dad…?" Dean asked. Sam smiled.

"Well, you can, but Dad's right arm is in a cast… and you know as well as I do how shaky his left hand is." Sam cleaned the cut across his chest and then dipped the towel in the warm water, it turned a slight pink color. "I patched up the one on your back while you were out, it's not that bad. I taped together your cheek." Dean touched his cheek gingerly, it was clean and had three of those tiny butterfly shaped band-aides on it.

"Thanks Sam." Dean said gently. Sam nodded and pressed the towel against the cut on his stomach. Dean closed his eyes and sighed. Sam wanted to bring up the gianormous montage of bruises on Dean's body, but Dean didn't want to say anything, so Sam didn't either. "So, how have you been?"

"Okay." Sam said instantly, like he wasn't really even listening. He was just praying that if he bandaged these cuts he wouldn't have to stitch them. He liked causing Dean pain as much as Dean liked to feel it.

"Getting good grades?" Dean asked. Sam nodded. "You always did." Dean remembered. Sam looked at him for a moment and then went back to cleaning the wounds. He showed Dean the antiseptic and Dean closed and fist and brought it to his mouth to bite on. Sam covered a slab of gauze with it and pressed it against the cut on his chest and taped it in place. Dean groaned so deeply it almost sounded like a growl. He took a deep breath. "Damn, I hate that part." Sam smiled.

"I have to do it again." Sam explained with a slight grin. Okay, maybe sometimes he enjoyed this. He had a specific incident where Dean had been cleaning some of Sam's boo-boos once, he hadn't exactly been gentle. Sam believed his exact words were "stop your blubbering, Sammy. Be a man. No wonder Alice Dawson said no." An insult like that wasn't easily forgotten by Sam Winchester. Sure, Dean had been pretty pissed off because John had made him stay behind to watch little Sammy, but that was no excuse.

"Go jump off a mountain, Sam." Dean joked and bit his fist as Sam repeated those steps, unaware of Sam's inner turmoil for that moment. Sam looked at his brother, with his eyes closed tightly and his teeth nearly breaking the skin of his knuckles. He was in a lot more pain than Sam had been all that time ago. With a quiet sigh Sam decided to forgive him, at least until the next time something brought up that painful memory.

"There, not all better, but close." Sam explained and got off the bed. He sat down on the other one, Dad's bed. "I'm doing pretty well in school; I'm working towards a law degree." Dean smiled and sat up higher on his pillows, wincing as he did so. Sam had piled all the pillows in the room under his head to make him more comfortable, but it was pretty hard to be comfortable after being a ghost's jack-o-lantern and falling two stories.

"I always knew you'd be a lawyer." Dean admitted. Sam looked slightly surprised. "But always make sure your client is innocent because you and lying…" Sam rolled his eyes. Dean shook his head. "I don't know how you've survived in this world being your goody two-shoes honest self, Sammy."

"It's Sam." He corrected.

"Like hell it is." Dean snapped. "You'll always be my geeky little brother Sammy." There was silence for a moment. "Well, I should go see Dad…" Dean tried to sit up, and Sam saw the pain flash across his features. "Where's my shirt?"

"Oh, you mean the shredded one soaked in blood?" Sam asked. Dean nodded. "I threw it out." Sam shook his head in disbelief. "You are becoming more and more like Dad every time I see you."

"Is that a bad thing?" Dean asked, feeling insulted. Sam shrugged and walked towards the suitcase under the small table by the corner kitchen. He opened it and grabbed Dean a shirt.

"Not if you want to end up alone." Sam explained and tossed Dean the shirt. Dean missed it on purpose.

"You're a selfish bastard, you know that Sammy?" Dean asked angrily. "You don't know the first thing about Dad, okay. Don't think that you do. Just because you're living this fake life that you've always so desperately wanted, you'll never be better than he is." Dean walked towards Sam so he was in his younger, but taller, brother's face. "He'd never abandon the people who love him."

"Let's get one thing straight here, Dean." Sam said bitterly, poking his shoulder. "You two are the ones who walked away from me, remember?" Sam asked. Dean shoved him hard.

"Don't even pretend you weren't gunna take that bag and leave!" Dean yelled. Sam shoved him back, even harder.

"I came today didn't I?" Sam shouted. "You should be kissing my feet or something! I saved your worthless ass today!" Dean started to clap.

"Oh, congrats Sammy. You came to our rescue. How many times have I called you before and you just ignored it? How many letters have you sent?" Dean asked and shoved him against the wall. Sam shoved Dean across the room and onto the bed.

"My mailbox isn't exactly overflowing with letters from you or Dad either!" Sam yelled. Dean pushed himself to his elbows.

"I wrote you, but I didn't exactly have anywhere to send it, did I?" Dean bellowed. They stared at each other for a moment, Sam standing there with his fists clenched and Dean lying on the bed, one hand over the bandage on his stomach, a fresh blood stain forming there. Sam took a step towards him.

"Dean… you're bleeding…" Sam whispered. Dean stood and shook his head.

"Just go back to your lie of a life." Dean said distantly and walked towards the bathroom. He stopped. "Just one question Sam…" Sam looked at him. "Do you feel like you fit in there? Do they know what a freak you are?" Sam didn't answer and Dean smiled coldly. "Didn't think so. Bye Sammy." He went into the bathroom. "Oh, that box by my suitcase, it's yours." Then he shut the door and Sam heard the lock click.

Sam sighed heavily and grabbed the box and left.

&&&

John Winchester was sitting in his bed, staring unsatisfied at his casts. His leg was in one and elevated above the bed. His arm was in a cast and a sling. This was just not going to do. He had demons to kill and ghosts to liberate and return to the ghost world where they were meant to be.

The only thought that kept him from busting out was the thought that his two boys were being brothers again. Dean had been so upset without Sam these past two years. Sam had been Dean's only friend. The oldest Winchester boy had never been Mr. Charismatic and had never been very comfortable in very social situations. Dean pretended to be a player and a ladies man, but in reality, John had never even seen his oldest ever talk to a girl that they weren't interviewing during a hunt. Well, there was that one girl, but she just wanted to get into his pants so she could kill him.

Dean was really just a broken child. He'd lost his mother, his brother, and if John was correct on his hunch, he'd loose his father for a while too.

&&&

Dean turned on the sink and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Damn Sam, didn't he know? Didn't he know how much Dean had missed him? How much he just wanted him to quit stupid college and come home so they could be brothers again? Didn't he see it in Dean's eyes? Didn't he see it in Dad's?

Dean sighed and looked at himself in the mirror. How could anyone see anything in those eyes? Dean hated to look at himself. When he did, he just saw a shell. The soul that once inhabited Dean Winchester must have been buried in there somewhere, under all the grief and guilt, but it would take months, maybe years of emotional chiseling at his rock hard surface to even find a sliver of it.

With a roar of anger Dean punched the mirror and cracked it. He continued to punch it until he left behind streaks of blood on the reflective surface. He reeled back and slammed against the wall, sending hot flashes of pain to his brain, but the rage suppressed them. He wanted to drag Sam back and tie him to the car and bring his scrawny ass home. Dean slid to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.

Screw being strong. He was too weak to be strong. Dean tucked his head down, putting his chin to his knees and started to cry. It wasn't so much a hysterical sob, but a depressed little whimper. There were no tears, little noise, but it suited him well. He lifted his head with new determination. That was the most he had cried in two years. He hadn't cried since Sam had left the first time. He'd filled his quota for the next four years or so, or until Sam walked out of his life again.

&&&

Sam realized how stupid it was for him to drive the Impala. He wasn't going to steal Dean's car. He'd wake up dead the next day.

Either way, now he had absolutely no ride. He held onto the box tightly and walked toward the front desk, a separate building next to the parking lot. He pushed open the door and jumped at the jingle of the over head bell. The young girl at the front desk smiled at him.

"Hey." She said happily. "Need a room?" She asked. Sam set his box on the desk and shook his head.

"Actually, I need a taxi or something." Sam explained. She nodded and reached for the phone book on her desk. She went to a page marked with a sticky note and grabbed her cell phone. She dialed and then smiled at Sam as she waited for someone on the other line to pick up.

"Hey, it's Lonnie." She said with a giggle. "Yeah, I got another bum without a car here who needs a ride." She joked. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "Where you need to go?" She asked.

"The old Montreal place." Sam explained. The girl looked at him strangely, but didn't say anything.

"Never mind Hank." She hung up. "If you wouldn't mind waiting, like five minutes, my shift ends and I live right near there. I can drive you." She explained. Sam nodded. "There's a couch over there, make yourself comfortable."

Sam sat down and pulled the lid of the box. Sam breathed out through his nose and smiled gently. "Dean." He whispered. It was full of letter, cards and other things Dean had collected for him over the years. On the top of the pile was a crinkled card that had some serious water damage to it. Sam smoothed it out on his pant leg and read the front. "So you're going to college?" He laughed at his own likeness on the front. He opened it up and read Dean's message. "Jesus Dean, why can't I be mad at you for fifteen minutes?" Sam asked and put the card back inside. He stood up. "Actually I won't be needing that ride after all."

&&&

Dean pulled on his jacket and opened the front door. His movements were slow and painful, but he had to go see his Dad. He had to tell him the job was finished and he was okay. He had to tell him about Sam.

"What the hell are you doing?" Someone yelled when Dean reached for the car handle. Dean turned around. "You can't drive." Sam said with a smile. He reached his hand out. "Give me the keys or I will physically drag your injured ass back to that hotel room and strap you to the bed."

"Oh, and then will you have your way with me, Sam?" Dean asked with a grin and tossed Sam the keys. Sam gave him a look. "I know what goes on at those college parties, little brother."

&&&

Dean pushed open the door to John's hospital room. His father's face lit up to see his two boys together again.

"Dean." He said, relief coloring his voice. "I was worried." He stated, as if reading off an appropriate father cue card. He hadn't really been worried. He knew Dean could handle almost anything thrown at him. "I'm glad you're okay."

"He almost wasn't. If I hadn't gotten there." Sam said to his father bitterly. Dean looked back at him and wondered what had happened to the friendly, carefree Sam that had just gotten out of the car. "You should look at his chest Dad." John Winchester looked at Dean.

"Dad, Sam dealt with it. I'm fine." Dean assured him. Sam gave a small chuckle and Dean shot a glace his way. "Shut up." Dean mouthed. Sam walked over and before Dean could protest or shove him out of the way, Sam had lifted up Dean's shirt. "Dude!" Dean yelled and angrily and pushed Sam away, using his other hand to pull his shirt back down. He looked to their father. "Dad, it's really not that bad." Dean assured him.

"You're right." John said casually and shifted his weight. Both Sam and Dean were a little shocked. Sure, Dean knew it was nothing to be put in critical care for, but he was in a fair amount of pain.

"Not that bad?" Sam asked in disbelief. "Dad!" Sam yelled and poked Dean's side. Dean groaned and then turned and socked Sam in the chest, Sam barely flinched. "That didn't even hurt, it always hurt when Dean punched me."

"You've been gone a long time Samuel, lots has changed." John said calmly, hating himself for every word he spoke. But now was not the time for Sam to want to reunite. He had a year and a half to go before he finished college, then he could do anything he wanted. He was setting Sammy free.

Sam shook his head angrily and stormed out of the room. Dean went to follow him.

"No, Dean don't." John ordered. Dean stopped in his tracks and looked at their father.

"But Dad…"

"I said no, Dean."

"Yes, Sir." And this time it was Sam who walked out the door without looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Walking Away, And Coming Back Again.

**Summary:** When Sam left for Stanford, their family shattered. Will Sam be there when his brother and father need him? Or are they just too broken? Pre-Series and leading up to Pilot.

* * *

**Chapter three; You Take My Heart Just To Break It**

Two years later:

Sam woke up and looked at the pile of blonde curls in his face. He smiled and blew them away.

"Mmh, Sammy, let me sleep." Jessica whispered and rolled over, her face centimeters from his. Sam smiled at her.

"Morning." He whispered and kissed the tip of her nose. She smiled and closed her eyes again. Sam rolled over and climbed out of bed slowly, trying not to shake the bed too much. He scratched the top of his head, shaking his bed hair back to life and hurried across the cold floor into the bathroom.

It'd been two years since he's started his somewhat normal life all over again. He hadn't heard from Dean or his father since the incident at the mansion… well except for graduation, but that hadn't gone too smoothly. Dean and their father had shown up half way through the ceremony. Dean looked like he had showered and tried to look decent, but John just wore whatever he had worn during that day… which happened to be old jeans and a leather jacket. It was the blood stain on his coat that made the uproar.

Afterwards Dean came up to Sam while he was taking pictures with his friends. Sam couldn't exactly shake the moment out of his head. He'd been standing there with his arm around his friend Zack and his little sister Becky ducked in between them for a total Kodak moment. Dean came waltzing up, that familiar swagger and handsome grin. Sam felt a twinge of jealousy when he noticed some of his girl friends turning to watch his mysterious older brother. After the flash of the camera Sam pulled away from his friends and walked over to Dean.

"What are you doing here?" Sam had asked, his voice unintentionally laden with bitterness. Dean had taken a step back and held out his hands questioningly.

"Well, I was here to congratulate you…" Dean explained and turned to leave. Sam had sighed heavily, feeling like a total prick.

"Dean, wait." Sam just knew, he just knew, that Dean was smiling. He was certain Dean had been counting down from three, just knowing Sam was going to call out his name. Dean stopped and partially turned around to him. "Um, you and Dad want to stay for a drink or something?" Dean shrugged.

"Actually, Dad left all ready, but if you wouldn't mind just me, I could totally go for a beer." Dean said with a smile. Sam nodded. "Nice dress, by the way." He said, pointing to Sam's graduation attire.

"It's a gown…" Sam corrected. Dean raised his eyebrows and smiled, because a dress and a gown were so much different. Sam rolled his eyes. "But you wouldn't know that because you never got to wear one."

"Hallelujah." Dean said enthusiastically. He swung his arm around Sam's neck. "Now, let's get me that drink."

&&&

"So, you and Dad… still hunting?" Sam asked and took a long sip from his bottle. Dean nodded.

"Yep, I doubt Dad will ever stop. You know, unless he finds the thing that killed Mom." Dean explained. Sam set the bottle down harder than he had intended and attracted the attention of a few drunks who were still bumming around the old tavern.

"He any closer?" Sam asked. It was amazing, he wrote A+ papers on cases currently behind upheld in supreme court, but he couldn't even use complete sentences with his own brother. Someone's priorities were slightly unorganized. Dean shrugged. "I thought you two were partners." Sam said with a little sarcasm. Dean set his drink down.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked angrily. Sam leaned over the table so he could whisper.

"You follow Dad without any question. If he told you to shoot yourself in the foot I'm pretty sure you'd do it." Sam said with a clenched jaw. Dean nodded.

"You're right. I would, because I trust him. Excuse me for trusting the man that gave me life. You know Sam, I kinda love him. You trust the people that you love." Dean whispered, his teeth bared. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Does he trust you Dean? Is that why he made you wait outside to call for help that night at the Montreal place? Or why he doesn't tell about your jobs until you're smack in the middle of it?"

"He's protecting me."

"By lying to you?" Sam asked incredulously. Sam shook his head. "Open your eyes Dean. What you two have, you're not partners. You're his solider."

"I'm his son!" Dean yelled, getting to his feet. "I'm sorry that you two never got along and that our life isn't enough for you, but don't judge me, Sam! And certainly don't judge Dad because I swear to God Sam, as much as I love you, I will kick your ass if you ever insult him." Dean stared at his little brother, his teeth clenched so tightly he was sure they were going to break. Sam said nothing, only started to get up from his chair. "Way to be Sam. Way to avoid anything that's hard. Run away like a little girl, just like you always have." Dean stood up, shoved Sam back into his chair and turned to walk away. Sam shot to his feet for the second time.

"Look whose running now, Dean!" Sam yelled. Dean paused before walking out the door. He turned to his brother, his eyes that familiar shade of autopilot Sam had seen in their father so many times. Dean shook his head.

"I'm not running from my problems Sam… just from you."

Those were the words Sam remembered the most now, standing in front of the mirror, hating his reflection.

"Sam, you'd better not be jacking off in there." Jess yelled, a giggle trying to be stifled. Sam smiled.

"You know I only do that in the shower." Sam yelled back sarcastically. He opened the door and stuck his head out. "Speaking of which." He smiled. "This shower is actually quite large…" Jess pouted at him.

"Do I need to hold your hand, Samantha?" She asked, getting out of bed. Sam wiggled his eyebrows.

"My hand wasn't exactly what I had in mind…"

&&&

John Winchester stared at the note he had just set on Dean's pillow. He was twenty six. He could take care of himself. Besides, with this voodoo job to occupy his time, he would hardly know his father was gone.

Still, there was the impending sense of failure brewing in John's gut. He wasn't quite sure who it was for either.

&&&

"Dad, hey I got us some breakfast." Dean yelled as he opened the door with his foot, the hotel key card between his teeth. He looked inside the empty hotel room. "Dad?" He set the two bags of groceries on the nearest bed. "Dad, you here?" Dean called. He walked to the bathroom and opened the door. Nothing. Dean scratched the top of his head in confusion. "Well, where the f-…" He saw the note on the pillow. He kept himself from diving on it like a lion on an antelope. Instead he calmly walked over to it and snatched it from the pillow, yeah Dean, because the pillow was really going to steal it.

Dean gave the pillow a triumphant smirk, and then shook his head. Man, he was becoming quite Sam-ish lately. John had written "Dean" on the front. God that man had horrible hand writing. He opened the little note and read the message. When he was done Dean dropped his hands and sighed heavily. He'd never done a job on his own before, he wasn't sure if he could do it or not.

&&&

Three months later: New Orleans

"You've got to talk to your Mother, Eve. If you don't she's going to kill anyone who's ever hurt you." Dean explained. He looked at the teenage boy standing next to him. "Including Josh and I don't think you want that." Dean whispered, staring at her harshly. Eve covered her face.

"Eve, please! You've got to stop her!" Josh yelled. He reached forward and grabbed her thin, tan arms. "Evie, please? I don't want to die." He admitted. Dean looked down at his watch.

"She's leaving in five minutes, Eve. If she makes it to that bridge before we catch her, your boyfriend is dead."

&&&

Dean drove the Impala as fast as he could, Eve in the passenger seat, and Josh in the back. He gasped.

"What?" Eve asked, whirling around to look at him. He had his eyes closed and was holding onto the seatbelt tightly.

"I'm on the bridge." He whispered, his whole body was shaking. Eve looked at Dean and he went from sixty to ninety.

&&&

The car screeched to a halt and the black woman standing on the bridge turned to look. Her long hair was in dreadlocks and they were pulled back from her face with a shoelace. She was wearing a long floor sweeping purple skirt with a white tank top and a large wool sweater on the top. But what they were all looking at was the doll in her hands.

It looked a lot like a rag doll, except for the single lock of blonde hair sewn onto the head. It was Josh's hair.

"Mom! No! Don't!" Eve screamed as she got out of the car.

"Kera, you don't want to do this! You don't want to become a murderer!" Dean yelled as he too got out of the car. Kera looked at them, a dazed look in her eyes.

"I won't let him hurt my baby again." She whispered. Eve ran towards her, tears streaming down her face.

"Mom, please. I love Josh. Please Mom, give me the doll." Eve sobbed, reaching her hands out. Dean started walking closer. Kera looked at Dean.

"Don't you come any closer to me!" She yelled. She pulled something out of her pocket and slipped it around the waist of the doll. Right before she whispered a chant under her breath Dean saw that it was his watch. She must have stolen it from his room last night.

Suddenly Dean felt as if he was on a cliff, looking down into a river, hundreds of feet below. Dean closed his eyes.

"It's not real… I'm on solid ground." He whispered to himself. He could faintly hear Eve's voice, calling to him and begging with her mother to hand over the doll. It was times like these that Dean really missed his father. He hadn't heard from him since he'd started this job, about five weeks ago. It shouldn't have taken this long, except for the little crush he'd developed on Eve's older sister, Janie.

Apparently, Kera's ancestors were old village Shamans. Well, back in the "day" these mystical Shamans punished wrong doers by making them live their worst fears. Say perhaps the man next door stole someone's goat. The goat-less villager would go to the Shaman with a personal item of the thief's and using a doll made from dirt and animal hide, the Shamans would make them think they were being burned alive, or drowning for example. Of course, in the good old "days" the Shaman would never kill anyone; apparently Kera had missed that lesson.

Dean opened his eyes and stared down over the edge of the cliff. He had repeatedly told Josh that if Kera started her Voodoo, all he needed to do was face down his fear. That meant stepping off the edge. Dean took a deep breath and put one foot off the edge of the cliff. He took another deep breath and stepped down.

"Mom, Josh loves me. He'd never hurt me." Eve assured her mother. Kera pulled the doll a little from the edge.

"But you said he broke your heart…" She remembered. Eve smiled.

"Mom, I'm a teenager. If he doesn't call me I say he broke my heart." She laughed and shook her head. "He didn't do anything except make me the happiest I've ever been in my life." She smiled. "Mommy put the doll down and come meet him, you'll love him." Kera looked at the car.

"Well… as long as he's a smart boy, I supposed I could tolerate you seeing him every once in a while." Kera handed the doll to Eve and she pulled Josh's hair from it and took off Dean's watch.

Dean sighed when the world around him went back to normal. Eve smiled at him and he smiled back. He watched as Josh got out of the car and ran to Eve. She jumped into his arms and he kissed her sweetly. Dean had been rooting for them, but he couldn't help but feel jealous.

&&&

"So, Sam, now that we're done with school, what do you want to do?" Jess asked, holding out her cereal spoon as if it were a microphone. Sam smiled and leaned in so he could talk into it. He tapped it to make sure it was on.

"I want to be with you." He explained. Jess smiled and put her hand on her heart.

"Oh, Sammy." She cooed and leaned in and kissed him. "You're sweet." She whispered. He nodded.

"I know." He said simply. Jess reached over and messed up his hair. He closed his eyes and groaned. "Do you know how long it takes me to get it like this?" He asked. Jess raised her eyebrows. "Okay, five seconds, but still." Jess was laughing at him. "You really deflate my ego."

"Cry me a river, Samantha." She said sarcastically. Sam wrinkled his nose as Jess got up to do the dishes.

"We really need to stop with the Samantha; it's almost as bad as Sammy." Sam said and leaned back in his chair, so only two chair legs were on the ground.

"Oh, but Sammy is cute." Jess insisted as she dropped a bowl in the full sink and dodged some soapy water as it splash attacked her.

"Yeah, cute." He agreed and rocked the chair back and forth. "Sure fine. But I want to be rugged or debonair… not cute, anything but cute." He said, shaking his head.

"How about adorable?" Jess asked and shrugged her shoulders. Sam didn't answer and she looked back at him with a huge smile.

"I'll stick with cute."

&&&

"You don't have to leave." Janie whispered as she sat on the hood of Dean's car. He sighed and looked at her. He was standing in front of her, his body positioned in between her legs and up against the grill of the car. He had his hands on the outside of her thighs. He nodded.

"Actually, I do." He said regretfully. "I haven't heard from my Dad in a long time, way too long. Something is wrong." Dean explained. Janie looked down and Dean lifted her chin with his hand. "I'll miss you though." He whispered.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asked, as clichéd as it sounded. She had fallen in love with Dean Winchester and now he was leaving as suddenly and as strangely as he had arrived. Dean shrugged.

"I honestly don't know. I hope so." He admitted. He smiled. "Hey, you're not as drop dead gorgeous when you frown." A little smile grew on her face. "There." He kissed her softly and when he went to pull away she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Dean Winchester." She whispered and kissed him again. "I don't know," she kissed him again. "who you are," and again. "but I love you." She pulled away. "Please, be careful." She looked at her hand. "Take this." She took the ring off her thumb. "It's always been way too big for me, so it should fit you." She said with a smile.

"Well, me and my fat fingers thank you." Dean said gently. They looked at each other again and kissed some more. "I don't want to leave you." Dean whispered. Janie looked at him and grabbed his hand.

"Then don't." She said solemnly. Dean felt his heart breaking. God, he loved this girl, but he just knew something wasn't right.

"But I have to." Dean explained. "I have to find my Dad."

"Then I'll come with you." Janie said simply. Dean shook his head.

"You can't. My life is too dangerous and I could never live with myself if you got hurt." He sighed. "Look, when I find him. I'll come back here, for you." He promised. He lifted up his hand to show her the ring he had just slid on his finger. "And I'll give this back."

"I'll wait for you." She promised. Dean smiled and ran his hand down her cheek, she turned her face and grabbed his hand to kiss his wrist. He yanked his hand away.

"Now, get the hell off my car so I can leave. Or else I'll change my mind and end up staying here." Dean said with a grin. Janie slowly slid off his car and walked with him to the driver's side. He got in and rolled down the window. She stuck her face in and kissed him.

"Promise me that you'll be safe?" Janie asked. Dean nodded.

"I will." He assured her. He started the car. "See you soon." She waved and took a step back. Dean drove off and forced himself to not glance in the mirror, because he knew he'd see the first girl he'd ever loved standing in the dirt road alone, waving, her long hair behind one ear, her brown eyes full of tears. He knew he'd turn around if he saw it.

&&&

Dean cut the engine and stared at Sam's door. He sighed heavily and got out of the car.

Hey, if Sam didn't kill him, maybe they could go get a beer.


End file.
